Hutch arrives at two minutes to five and my mom waves us off, but not before insisting on getting a picture of us together.

  Hutch looks about as adorable as they come in a smart shirt tucked into his jeans. He even opens the passenger door for me to get in. When we pull up outside Caruso’s Trattoria, he walks me inside and pulls the chair out for me and treats me like a queen. It’s all so romantic and gentlemanly, I’m almost wondering if his mother gave him step-by-step instructions on how to treat a girl, because all the other guys I know his age would count fast food at the mall as a fairly solid first date.

  I order the risotto and Hutch gets the chicken parmesan. Conversation flows easily between us throughout our meal and I can see some older couples at nearby tables looking at us, starry-eyed, as though they’re seeing themselves young again.

  “Here.” Hutch reaches into his pocket just as I finish my dessert.

  I pull up a napkin and wipe away any remaining traces of the chocolate gelato I just devoured, before taking the small black box from him. “What is it?”

  “It’s for your birthday, open it up.”

  I pull the top off and underneath I find a small silver ‘M’ on a delicate chain. I take the necklace out and admire it. “Hutch, this is beautiful.”

  “That’s why it’ll look so great on you.”

  He pushes back his blond hair then reaches over the table and clasps the necklace around my neck, before he sits back to look at me and grins. I smile and force down the tears that try to spring into my eyes.

  Hours later, as I lay in bed and picture that grin on his face, I get a strange sensation in my chest. A heaviness that sits on me, uncomfortable, almost smothering.

  Hutch is one of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s not only kind and sweet and gorgeous, but he also has a puppy dog innocence about him. And it weighs on my heart like an anvil that I will be the one to shatter that innocence to pieces.

  33

  RUBY

  The house is quiet. Too quiet. It’s the second day of March, Mory and Cameron are at school and I’m avoiding the sound of my own footsteps echoing inside the empty house by putting my focus into the backyard.

  A few short weeks ago, I was hesitant to so much as mow the lawn in fear of Bernice running out to tell me it was too loud, or that she could smell the grass clippings, or that I was breathing too heavily. But today I can work undisturbed on my own property and the task at hand is to finally tackle the flower beds that run along the back fence.

  I soak in the warmth of the sunshine on my face as I pull on some gardening gloves and start tugging out the weeds that have taken over. The earthy smell of the soil reminds me of digging up worms as a kid, and I smile to myself as I push my hands into the dirt.

  Despite the distraction, my thoughts keep getting pulled back to Bernice. Seeing her casket was a jarring experience. In one way, it made me feel sad for her—that her life was cut short in such a violent way. But the darker part of my mind says this is the most peaceful that woman has ever been and, as horrible as it sounds, I have to wonder if she was done a favor by being killed. Her life seemed to revolve around her own outrage at everyone and everything, always looking for someone to blame for her own misery. What kind of a life is that?

  I shake my head, trying to clear all thoughts of Bernice Fisher from my mind. She’s gone now, and there’s nothing I can do about it, so I may as well move on with my life.

  And while that might be easy enough for me, it’s a little more complicated for Justin, since he’s found himself firmly at the center of yet another police investigation. It’s no surprise that they’ve questioned him about the murder. After all, they had about a hundred witnesses telling them she’d given him motive that night at the meeting. And they already think he had something to do with his wife’s disappearance.

  But after sitting down with him at his (monstrously large) house and hearing the story in his own words, I feel confident that he didn’t kill his wife. And as much as he had cause to want her to shut up, he didn’t kill Bernice, either. That investigation is now in the police’s hands, and time will only tell where that leads them.

  But since the police were here asking questions anyway, I took my chance and tried to garner their interest in the photos of the girls when they came to my door. As I’d anticipated, the officers couldn’t have been less interested in some old photos I found around the house. But I know in my heart there’s something more there. Something happened to those girls. And I just wish that somebody—anybody—would take it seriously.

  Justin, my neighbors, Benton, and now even the cops have all shrugged it off as being nothing. They can’t seem to see past the wide smiles and seemingly relaxed poses in those photos to what lies underneath. But I can see it. I can see the fear lurking below the surface.

  I yank at the weeds that have knotted their way through the flower beds, having long since strangled the life from the flowers that were once here, much like the life was strangled out of Bernice. Why can I not shake that woman from my mind?

  The one good thing going on right now—if I ignore the creepy photos, the murdered neighbor and the fact that everyone in town thinks my boyfriend is a killer—is that Mory finally seems to be more settled here. I have no doubt that the moment she hits eighteen she’ll be out of Lonerock like a rocket (likely to live with her father, Caitlyn, and the new baby) but she seems to have fewer bad things to say about this town since she and Hutch have moved up the friendship ladder to dating status. The weird thing is, I don’t think she’s even lying to me about their PG-rated relationship. Don’t get me wrong, it makes me very happy to see a couple their age taking things slowly and getting to know each other well before taking any big steps—but I also remember being their ages. It would have taken a bulldozer to get in the way of Aaron and I getting physical back then.

  “Ruby! Hi,” comes a man’s voice from behind me.

  I turn to see Quinten Parker at my side gate.

  “Hi, Quinten.” I laugh. “Funny, I was just thinking about your son.”

  He raises an eyebrow and I realize that sounded bad. “I mean, how nice it is to see his and Mory’s relationship blossoming.”

  Quinten nods. “She’s all Hutch talks about.”

  I pull off my gardening gloves and walk over to the gate. “I’ll have to send you and Felicity the pictures I took of them before their date for Mory’s birthday last week. They make such a sweet couple.”

  It hits me now that I’m not sure why Quinten is standing at my back gate. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Quinten grins. “Yes, actually. Speaking of birthdays, Felicity’s fortieth is next week and I’m organizing a surprise party for her. I didn’t have your number, so I thought I’d come over and invite you in person.”

  “A surprise party? How are you going to pull that off?” I ask.

  Quinten holds a sneaky finger up in the air. “Well, she thinks I’m leaving on the Saturday for a conference in Bayfield. But really, I don’t leave until Sunday. So, Hutch and Leo are going to take her out for a birthday dinner Saturday evening, giving me just enough time to use my ninja skills to sneak back into the house to get the party ready.”

  “She’ll be very surprised, I’m sure,” I say. “It’s really sweet that you’re doing all that for her.”

  Quinten’s face clouds over earnestly. “Well, she deserves it. I’m away for work so much of the time, and she runs the whole show. I really wanted this milestone birthday to be special for her.”

  Lucky Felicity. She’s got great kids, a great house, and a hunky husband who cares enough to show her how much she’s appreciated. I’m only a little bit jealous. Okay, make that insanely jealous. But I can’t hold it against her that her life is all sunshine and roses. Plus, a party is probably exactly what I could do with to unwind. My life these past few weeks has been a whirlwind of anxiety and frustration mixed with endless house renovations.

  “So can I count on you to be there Saturday, seven o’clock?” Quinten asks.

  “That sounds great, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “That’s okay, I’ve got it all under control. Just bring yourself and those two great kids of yours.” He winks.

  I notice he doesn’t mention Justin, whose presence would likely put everyone on edge given the neighborhood have already decided he’s Bernice’s killer.

  “We’ll be there,” I confirm.

  “Great!” He smiles, then taps the side of his nose. “Now don’t let the secret out.”

  34

  RUBY

  “Is that a new dress?” Mory points to the mid-length floral number that cinches right at my waist and flares out around my knees as we make the walk to the Parkers’ house.

  It’s been a week since Quinten dropped by and despite telling myself that I wouldn’t make a big effort for this party, I ended up buying a whole new outfit for the night, including heels and earrings. “Yeah, I picked it up at the thrift store the other day.”

  Does Anthropologie count as a thrift store?

  “You look nice.” She smiles.

  I try not to fall down to the pavement in shock. Mory doesn’t throw compliments about recklessly, so either she’s buttering me up for something or the effort I put in tonight must have really paid off. I do feel pretty good about myself, though. It took me roughly forty minutes, but my hair is now perfectly styled into the ‘effortless bun’ from the tutorial I followed online, and I only had to wipe off and redo my smoky eyes twice before I eventually got it right.

  Not bitterly, I notice my daughter doesn’t need to put in half as much effort in order to look ten times better than I do. At her age, she can run a brush through her hair, throw on any old combination from her wardrobe and come out looking as fresh as a daisy. We were all young once. She’s just having her turn now.

  “Is Justin coming?” Cameron asks as he teeters along the edge of the curb, balancing like a tightrope walker.

  “Not tonight,” I say.

  “Is that ’cause they think he killed the old lady?” he says, unfiltered.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Did he?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “And don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise.”

  “Okay.” Cameron nods, taking my word as gospel.

  This is a trait which seems to end around age ten, so I’m just going to appreciate it for now.

  We arrive at the Parkers’ and Quinten answers the door with a smile. “Come on in, everyone is hiding out in the kitchen.”

  He leads us through the immaculate house to the kitchen, where we join a large crowd of other guests. An impressive number, really, since there are no additional cars parked outside. Even Quinten has left his car elsewhere in order to not arouse suspicion from Felicity.

  “Okay, people!” Quinten claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “I just got a text from Hutch, they’re about to leave the restaurant now. We have about twenty minutes.”

  There’s a cheer of excitement before everyone goes back to mingling amongst themselves. Cameron spots a table of various chips and dips and goes running.

  “Ladies, you look absolutely beautiful.” Quinten turns to me and Mory. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I say. “You and Felicity have been so great, having the kids over all the time, doing activities with them, feeding them.”

  “We love having them here, you raised some great kids, Ruby.” Quinten turns to a blushing Mory. “Speaking of activities, Mory, you should see the robotics kit me and Hutch just ordered online.”

  While Quinten pulls his phone out to show Mory something I’m sure would mean absolutely nothing to me, I excuse myself and head for the bar that’s set up on the marble island. Scanning the bottles lined up on top, I spot the bourbon. I grab the bottle and pour a generous amount into a glass, before adding sweet vermouth and a little bitter.

  “A Manhattan?” comes a smooth voice.

  I turn to see Benton Shepherd standing beside me, glass of white wine in his hand.

  “Yeah,” I confirm. “Good eye.”

  “I wasn’t always a realtor.” He leans closer. “I worked the bar at a hotel to make ends meet during my time studying.”

  I nod, politely. If I were being honest, I’d say I was more surprised about the fact he’s here right now than about him knowing a reasonably common cocktail. I didn’t even know he was friends with the Parkers, but apparently they know him well enough for Quinten to invite him here for his wife’s birthday party.

  I’m still a little wary of this man. He’s good-looking, smooth-talking, drives a flashy car and was the only person to have access to my home in the years before I moved in. I have a very hard time believing he isn’t responsible for the photos I found.

  I can just imagine him being the type of guy that draws young women in with his gleaming smile and flirtatious manner, then… I don’t know, forces them to let him take their photos? Kills them? I haven’t quite figured out that part yet, but what I do know is that this guy gives me the creeps in a major way.

  “So how are the renovations coming along?” Benton’s eyes avoid mine as he begins pouring himself another glass of wine. “You know, I’ve always really liked that house. It just has a charm about it.”

  I’m not sure what the opposite of charm is exactly, but whatever it is would be a better description of my home. “It’s going… slowly.”

  Benton glances my way. “Oh?”

  “I’m doing it mostly by myself,” I explain. “So, it’ll probably be next year by the time I’m done.”

  Benton leans on the counter and lowers his voice. “Any word on what happened with Bernice Fisher?”

  I drain my drink a little faster than I’d intended to and start making another, wanting to take the edge off the anxiety Benton evokes in me. “I haven’t heard anything, no.”

  Benton shakes his head, solemnly. “It’s just so crazy, you know? The last time we all saw her, she was swearing blind that Justin Thomas was the devil incarnate, and then she suddenly shows up dead.”

  I slam the bottle of vermouth down a little too hard, and liquid jumps out, landing on the shoulder of my dress. Benton grabs a napkin and begins patting the area for me, but I snatch it from him and do it myself.

  I’ve heard the murmurs, the whispers, and I’ve read the vibe around town, but Benton has basically just come right out and accused Justin of killing Bernice straight to my face. I don’t know how Justin manages to keep his composure through all this bull crap but even with only one strong drink in me, my barrier is already down. I throw the napkin to the counter and cross my arms.

  “How dare you imply that Justin had something to do with Bernice’s death.” My voice comes out low between my teeth. “Justin is a⁠—”

  I’m interrupted by Quinten’s loud clapping again. “Everyone! We have about a minute left until Felicity gets here. Time to quiet down. And phones on silent, please.”

  I turn back to Benton, whose eyes are still fixed on me. He looks like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I turn on my heel and walk over to where Mory stands with Cameron.

  Quinten switches off the lights and we’re plunged into darkness. With nobody able to see me, I take two huge glugs of my drink, draining my glass again. I’m not usually much of a drinker, but I need something to calm me down right now. I shouldn’t have exploded at Benton like that, but he really hit a nerve. Thankfully, I don’t think anybody else noticed.

  We all wait quietly until we hear a car pull up outside the house and doors slam. There are some muffled giggles beside me and people shushing as we all stand motionless in the dark. The door that leads to the foyer is closed and from behind it we all hear the front door opening and then closing.

  There must be at least thirty people inside this room, yet not a peep of noise is being made. But I can feel the anticipation of the whole room rising, and along with it, the temperature. I’m pretty sure someone is breathing on my neck. It’s way too clammy in here.

  There’s a noise in the hall outside. Voices. Felicity and Hutch talking. It seems to go on forever. Shouldn’t Hutch be encouraging her to open the kitchen door? Imagine if she were to decide to go straight to bed—how long would we all stay standing here until somebody had to go break it to her that there’s a party waiting?

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity in the blazing inferno that is the Parkers’ kitchen, the door slowly opens and a hand reaches for the switch.

  In the following moments, three things happen: the crowd collectively inhales, a roar of “SURPRISE!” rings out around the room, and the lights come on, bringing into focus a frazzled looking Felicity, who stands there stunned, with red-rimmed eyes and mascara stains running down both cheeks.

  35

  RUBY

  It’s alarming how fast Felicity can go from looking distraught to picture-perfect.

  In less than five seconds after the light comes on, she’s wiped her cheeks, scooped back her hair and flipped her frown around into a bright smile.

  “Oh my God!” she gasps, laughing. “What on earth?”

  Quinten grabs her shoulders and pulls her in for a hug. “Happy birthday, darling!”

  Everyone joins in wishing her a happy birthday, and as her eyes travel over the room, Felicity looks genuinely shocked to see so many people standing in her kitchen.

  “Thank you all so much, this is just… wow.” She laughs again. “I had no idea!”

  Quinten begins guiding her through the room, stopping to say hello to people as she goes. I spot Hutch standing at the doorway his mother just walked through, a concerned look shadowing his face. Whatever was going on when they arrived home just now is obviously still playing on his mind. I imagine his conscience was torn when he allowed his mother to walk through that door in tears, without warning her of the awaiting crowd. I wonder what upset her? Maybe the fact that she’s turning forty? I suppose it is quite a big deal. Approaching middle age, your children getting older, deep lines showing up on your face and the realization that you’re at roughly the halfway point in life. I’m starting to perspire a little just thinking about it myself. My own fortieth is only two years away.